How A Recent SC Judgement Puts Indian Federalism At Stake

On an otherwise routine day, the Supreme Court delivered a judgement that will reverberate through India’s constitutional order. By overturning Justice J.B. Pardiwala’s view that Governors and the President cannot sit indefinitely on bills passed by state legislatures, the Court has dealt what may be the final blow to Indian federalism. Governors—unelected Central appointees—are now effectively empowered to paralyse elected state governments simply by doing nothing: no assent, no return, no explanation. What was meant as a limited constitutional check under Articles 200 and 201 has been transformed into an unaccountable veto, allowing Union nominees to nullify the will of millions without action or scrutiny. The Court has effectively told Governors that they may ignore democratic mandates and obstruct governance indefinitely, and the Constitution will shield them. If federalism is truly a basic feature of the Constitution, this ruling amounts to its judicial dismantling—a constitutional death achieved not through amendment, but through interpretation.

To understand this moment, we must confront a truth many are reluctant to acknowledge: the Constitution was built with a clear tilt toward central dominance. This was not oversight—it was deliberate. The framers, scarred by Partition, communal violence, princely resistance, and the fear of Balkanisation, chose a “Union of States”, not a federation of equals. The language signalled the intent: an indissoluble structure held together by a powerful Centre.

The design followed that logic. States have no right to secede. Residuary powers lie with the Centre, reversing the usual federal model. The Union can legislate on State List subjects through multiple routes—emergencies, national interest, treaties, or even at states’ request. Emergency provisions allow near-total central control. Governors, appointed and removable by the Centre, function as its agents, not as neutral constitutional heads. The President can withhold assent to state bills indefinitely. Parliament can redraw state boundaries without their consent, reducing states to administrative units rather than political entities.

The Constituent Assembly made these choices consciously. Nehru, Patel and Ambedkar argued that only a strong Centre could hold the nation together. Ambedkar was explicit: India would be federal in normal times and unitary in emergencies.

What they did not anticipate—or refused to consider—was that those in power could treat “normal times” as permanently deferred. The extraordinary powers they granted were assumed to be exercised with restraint and democratic commitment. The system would work only if the Centre behaved responsibly.

This was the original flaw: a constitutional order that depended on virtue rather than restraining vice.

A Constitutional Saboteur

The crisis stems from one of the Constitution’s most damaging design flaws: the office of the Governor. Intended as a largely ceremonial figure with limited discretion, the Governor has become the Centre’s most effective tool for undermining state governments it dislikes.

This transformation was made possible by structural vulnerabilities: Governors are appointed solely by the Union through an opaque process, with no qualifications, no consultation with states, no confirmation, and no security of tenure. Serving entirely at the Centre’s pleasure, they remain politically beholden and easily directed. Their discretionary powers are vaguely defined, insulated from scrutiny, and free from accountability—no obligation to explain decisions, no parliamentary oversight, no removal mechanism, and crucially, no time limit for assent to state legislation. Constitutional silence has become constitutional licence.

Misuse of the office is bipartisan, but the Modi government has weaponised it with unmatched intensity. After the Supreme Court’s new ruling, Governors may now sit on bills indefinitely, refuse assent without explanation, block forwarding to the President, and paralyse state governance while enjoying full privileges.

This is already happening: Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Telangana, Punjab and West Bengal have all seen prolonged obstruction. Justice Pardiwala’s attempt to impose a “reasonable timeframe” offered a minimal check. The Court has now erased even that, elevating textual literalism over democratic mandate and handing unelected appointees veto power over elected governments.

The Supreme Court’s role in this crisis demands sharp criticism. For decades, it styled itself as the defender of federalism, curbing central overreach through judgements like S.R. Bommai (1994), which tightened the use of Article 356 and subjected President’s Rule to judicial review; the NCT of Delhi rulings, which affirmed the authority of elected governments over administration; and Nabam Rebia (2016), which limited Governors’ power to summon or dissolve assemblies. These decisions suggested the Court grasped its duty: to interpret constitutional silences in favour of democratic governance and protect representative institutions from executive abuse.

The latest judgement abandons that legacy. By holding that neither the Governor nor the President is bound by any timeline in deciding on state bills, the Court has effectively sanctioned indefinite delay, removed judicial scrutiny of gubernatorial obstruction, and elevated textual literalism over democratic purpose. Its reasoning—that silence equals unlimited discretion—is a recipe for paralysis. Taken to its logical end, it would allow the President to stall parliamentary legislation indefinitely, rendering legislatures powerless.

This ruling reflects a deeply anti-democratic approach that treats the Constitution as a closed text, reads silences as authorisations rather than gaps demanding principled interpretation, and prioritises executive discretion over accountability. Federalism is not only dismantled through amendments; it collapses when institutions charged with protecting it reinterpret silence as license for authoritarian practice. The Court, once central to guarding federal balance, now stands complicit in its erosion.

The Trajectory of Centralisation

Union dominance over states has always existed, but the pace and brazenness of centralisation since 2014 mark a decisive rupture. Earlier abuses relied heavily on Article 356—used over 90 times between 1950 and 1994, largely by the Congress to topple opposition governments. S.R. Bommai curtailed that weapon. The Bharatiya Janata Party government simply shifted tactics. Why risk invoking emergency powers and judicial review when the same outcome can be achieved through pliant Governors, investigative agencies, fiscal leverage, and now—thanks to the Supreme Court—indefinite legislative obstruction?

The fiscal squeeze has been the most punishing. GST wiped out state taxation autonomy, and the GST Council has functioned less as a cooperative body than as a mechanism for centralised control. Compensation payments have been delayed for months, leaving states financially crippled. Finance Commission awards increasingly appear politically skewed. States now rely on the Centre for GST dues, centrally sponsored schemes that can be withdrawn as punishment, disaster relief that arrives selectively, and even permission to borrow. Financial dependence ensures political compliance.

Meanwhile, central agencies—the Enforcement Directorate, the Central Bureau of Investigation and the National Investigation Agency—target opposition-led states with uncanny timing. Funds under programmes like the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (MNREGA), and housing schemes are withheld when governments resist pressure. Essential clearances and data become bargaining chips.

With Governors able to block legislation indefinitely, states have lost meaningful autonomy. What voters mandate, a Governor can neutralise; what legislatures enact, central agencies can undermine; what states need financially, the Union can deny. The result is a system where state governments retain responsibility but not power.

The most remarkable aspect of the Central government’s assault on federalism is that it has been achieved without a single constitutional amendment. No consensus-building, no public debate, no political risk—just systematic exploitation of every ambiguity, discretionary power, and unguarded clause the framers left behind.

The instruments were always there: unlimited gubernatorial assent powers now endorsed by the Court, coercive central agencies operating with minimal oversight, fiscal chokeholds created by GST and conditional funding, regulatory capture of “independent” bodies, appointments engineered for loyalty, and a judiciary increasingly deferential under the guise of textual formalism.

B.R. Ambedkar warned that a Constitution is only as good as those who implement it. We now see the proof: a document containing authoritarian possibilities, placed in the hands of actors willing to push every such possibility to its limit, yields authoritarian outcomes.

The brilliance—if one chooses to call it that—is in the method. No emergency, no dramatic break, no midnight proclamation. Just the steady use of existing constitutional powers, driven to their extremes, and legitimised through institutional subservience and judicial complicity.

With this ruling, Indian federalism enters terminal decline. Opposition-led states can no longer legislate in any meaningful sense if every major bill can be stalled indefinitely. State legislatures are reduced to spectacle—debating and passing laws that an unelected Governor can simply ignore. The people’s mandate becomes hollow when the government they elect cannot govern. Governors now operate as modern viceroys: unelected, unaccountable agents of the Centre who override democratic will from above.

No electoral majority, however overwhelming, can protect a state government from this veto-by-inaction. One appointee, armed with the power of endless delay, can neutralise the collective decision of an entire legislature. This is colonial governance in republican form—the same structure the British Raj used, permitting elected bodies to deliberate while reserving decisive authority for the Governor. The Court has effectively restored that logic.

The problem runs deeper than Narendra Modi or the BJP. The Constitution itself embeds the architecture of central dominance: a federation that treats states as subordinate, residual powers vested in the Centre, emergency provisions that allow democracy to be suspended at executive whim, a Governor appointed and controlled entirely by the Union, the now-validated power to block state legislation indefinitely, central fiscal control through GST and conditional funding, and even the authority to redraw state boundaries without consent.

India’s federation endured not because its design guaranteed balance, but because earlier governments exercised restraint—whether out of democratic conviction, political caution, or fear of backlash. Once a regime chose to exploit every constitutional opening without regard for its spirit, the system’s fragility was exposed. Collapse was not an aberration; it was built into the structure, waiting for a government willing to push it to its limits.

The Supreme Court’s judgement marks a decisive rupture. Federalism in India is no longer weakened or endangered—it is effectively dead wherever the Union chooses confrontation. Powers meant for crises have become routine tools of control; discretion meant for limited use has been weaponised; and the judiciary, tasked with guarding the federal balance, has simply stepped aside.

This is not a technical constitutional problem. It is a democratic collapse. When elected governments cannot govern, when legislatures cannot enact laws, when millions of votes can be nullified by one unelected appointee doing nothing, federalism becomes a fiction and democracy a facade. The question now is not how to revive federalism within this framework—without structural overhaul, that is unrealistic. The real question is whether the Indian Union can survive the centralised authoritarianism now legitimised by the Court. History shows that systems unable to accommodate regional diversity or democratic accountability eventually crack. India may be heading toward such a crisis, and the Supreme Court has ensured we will face it without federal safeguards or judicial protection. We stand exposed.

(Views expressed are personal)

Anand Teltumbde is an Indian scholar, writer and human rights activist

This article appeared as A Union Of The Unequals in Outlook’s December 21, 2025, issue as 'What's Left of the Left' which explores the challenging crossroads the Left finds itself at and how they need to adapt. And perhaps it will do so.